


Our King Oneshots

by WhyDontWeBegin



Series: Our King [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Brooding, F/M, Floof, In Gil we trust, Longing, Lots of Angst, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Multi, Pining, Spoilers, There isn’t much on timing, depressing stuff, im just dumping buckets of it, some broken people with scars to match, some spoodlers, this is me sating my hunger for floof that cant be put in Our King
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDontWeBegin/pseuds/WhyDontWeBegin
Summary: A set of drabbles and oneshots that don’t actually have any placement in Our King, but occur in the Our King universe





	1. Calm (Gilgamesh/Diarmuid)

**Author's Note:**

> I craved fluff and then this happened.

Diarmuid hummed softly as he stirred to the feeling of warmth pressed against his back, an arm slung around his torso. His brow furrowed when he felt the demigod behind him kiss the back of his neck softly, bringing him closer still. 

“I know you’re awake.”

The Lancer felt his cheeks heat up as he huffed softly. Gilgamesh chuckled at his companion’s antics, taking the time to enjoy the feeling of the knight’s naked body pressed against his. Gods above knew they didn’t often get reprieves like this. A small frown crossed his features when his lover winced as he shifted to face the crimson-eyed King. “You’re in pain.”

“I like to think of it as further proof you love me,” the Irishman hummed in response, voice rough from sleep. Even if he woke up sore the morning after, Diarmuid enjoyed the nights they spent together. Hell, he loved late-night cuddling just as much. In truth— though his pride would never let him admit it— he loved just about everything he did with the man. Amber clashed with crimson and both, unaware they shared the sentiment, wondered just what they did to deserve the other. Gilgamesh thought for only a moment more before speaking. 

“Do you now? Need I remind you who you are compared to me?”

“No, my king,” the knight whispered in response, a small chuckle accompanying his words. His reward was a chaste kiss before the Mesopotamian released him and sat up, stretching with a yawn. The Lancer followed him in the action, ignoring the pain that came with it in favor of wrapping his arms around the other from behind and resting his head against the other’s back. The chuckle it drew from the arrogant man made him smile and tighten his grip a bit.

“You don’t want to get up, do you?”

“... No. I’d much rather stay here with you, Gil,” the ravenette admitted, a faint blush on his cheeks. He almost pouted when his lover gently pried his arms away. Almost. Whatever negative feelings bubbles up in the next few moments were washed away when Gilgamesh pulled him into his lap, smiling up at him and running a hand through his unruly hair. Diarmuid couldn’t help but lean into the touch, eyes falling shut and a ghost of a smile on his lips. He felt several strands of hair being returned to their usual place and opened his eyes, pressing his forehead against the blonde’s. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Diarmuid, we’ll have to get up eventually,” Gilgamesh reminded. The Irishman didn’t respond, instead opting to kiss the king before him. It was soft, sweet, and warm. Not unlike the entire morning, the Archer mused, returning the attention with a smile. 

 

The couple decided that once it was over, they would be doing this a lot more often.


	2. Aftermath (Alter Cú/Caster Cú)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They survived the Fifth Singularity.
> 
> But Caster is suffering a horrible aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, there are Our King plotline spoilers. 
> 
>  
> 
> Someone take these children away from me, I’m going to hurt all of them.

No one asked him what happened— not even his Lancer selves. Cú was thankful for that. How was he supposed to explain to them what happened after he’d been taken? As much as he appreciated the concern, the Irish demigod still didn’t want to think of the looks he’d probably receive if he told them. How was he to explain that he’d fallen in love with his captor, despite the fact that he was a bloodthirsty maniac— and yet another Cú Chulainn, to boot?

For a while, he avoided everyone. Not to say he didn’t go join in the fun when Emiya cooked (the chaos was always wonderful background noise, and the Caster couldn’t help but gravitate to the warmth the cafeteria would emit). The blunette was quiet, though. The quiet avoidance of someone who was in pain, but didn’t want to talk about it. He was craving the touch of a man he’d never see again— his warmth, his scent. He missed the sound of the Berserker purring when holding him. 

That’s why he was so very shocked when both of his Lancer selves hid themselves behind him, leaving him in confusion until he set eyes upon the Servant their Master had been so intent on summoning the past several days. Cú could’ve sworn he felt his heart stop. He wanted nothing more than for it to be true, but doubt still settled in his mind. There was no logical reason for him to be summoned here. 

And yet the object of the Caster’s affections, his longings stood before him, expression almost neutral. His eyes were wider than usual, lips parted, but everything else was so painfully familiar. The two Lancers were shocked into silence when their Master, who was approaching with a raised brow and a knowing smirk, outright shoved the Berserker forward. 

“What’re you waiting for? He’s been stuck thinking about you this whole damn time, you know,” the blonde chided. That was all it took to convince the Berserker to step forward and pull the other man to his chest. The other was snapped back to reality by the action, and was all too happy to return the embrace. Yuki chuckled at the two, ushering them off. 

The next morning found Caster wrapped in the familiar warmth of his Alter self, aforementioned man purring from deep inside his chest as they cuddled. 

Even if they’d been close to breaking in the aftermath, neither regretted their actions.


	3. King’s Comfort (Gilgamesh/Diarmuid)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh has a nightmare. Who better to catch him than his knight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually pretty soft compared to Knight’s Solace
> 
> They aren’t completely fucked up by my angsty ways just yet, it’s only a bit of self-doubt 
> 
> Someone take these boys away from me before I break them

They were crumbling, cursing him and all he was and saying they’d only done anything for him, with him out of pity for a bad king with no right to happiness and he swore he could feel his heart breaking, tearing itself apart. He couldn’t say a word, just let out broken sobs and then he was screaming as the void consumed him, darkness filling his vision and he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. Nothing— there was nothing. No one to save him as he was falling and then there was. It was still dark but he was safe, pressed against a warm, clothed chest with a familiar scent filling his senses and a strong arm wrapped around his torso, holding him close with a firm grip but still so gentle. Hushed affirmations that it was ok, that nothing could hurt him here filled his ears along with the steady rhythm of Diarmuid’s heartbeat and then Gilgamesh was crying again, broken sobs escaping him despite every attempt to stifle them. A gentle hand started combing through his damp hair and the Archer was trembling, shaking as he wrapped his arms around the Lancer and cried into his chest. 

“‘m here, Gil. Not goin’ anywhere. No one can or will hurt ya here.”

The King of Heroes felt a fresh wave of tears coming and he made no attempt to stop it, knowing it would be in vain because they were brought forth by the rough, warm voice and familiar subtle accent and even a bit slurred because the ravenette was tired but the effect was the same as it always was when he woke up like this. Diarmuid seemed unfazed or just didn’t care that his lover’s tears were soaking his shirt because he held him close the entire time, running his hand through golden locks and murmuring comforting words and sweet nothings to without complaint. 

As he calmed, exhausted and his eyes stinging, Gilgamesh took comfort in the fact that the Irishman would sooner die than tell anyone of these moments. The Archer withdrew his arms and shifted so he could wipe the tear stains from his cheeks, rubbing them away with a ferocity he didn’t think he had in him at the moment and the Lancer had let him, the arm around the King’s waist moving with his lover. Diarmuid smiled at the sight because if there was anything he hated, it was seeing Gilgamesh cry. When the opportunity presented itself he cupped the crimson-eyed man’s cheek, gently running his thumb under eyes puffy from crying.

“There w’ are.. tears don’t suit you, my king,” Diarmuid hummed softly, a little more awake now and pleasantly surprised when Gilgamesh leaned up to kiss him softly before laying back down. It wasn’t until after the Archer fell back asleep that he allowed his own eyes to close, comforted by the knowledge his king was alright.


	4. Knight’s Solace (Gilgamesh/Diarmuid)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re broken.  
> But they still have each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gods  
> I was writing this and it was going to be softer and fluffier like King’s Comfort but—
> 
> It got super angsty and dark and depressing and I almost cried while writing this in all honesty so now I feel like absolute trash for what I’ve done to these two
> 
> Also be warned: there are Our King plotline spoilers

The rain is cold as ice against his skin, mingling with blood but doing nothing to wash it away as it drips from him. So many dead but that doesn’t change what he’s staring at— the spears through the chests of his wife and his lord undoubtedly belong to him and both of them are staring, asking him why as they cough up blood, and something inside him breaks because how can he call himself a knight when he betrayed his lord like this— his own wife— 

And then it’s burning. Everything is burning and he’s coughing as the smoke fills his lungs, soot and ash joining the blood and rain on his skin and in his hair, covering his clothes. And he hears them screaming, begging him to help but despite his best efforts the man can’t move, his legs are frozen and they refuse to move and all of a sudden he’s surrounded by concrete, one of his own spears through his chest and blood pouring from his mouth as he looks up at his Master, the degrading, scornful look aimed at him cutting to his core.

“How can you call yourself a knight when you betrayed your lord? Where’s that famous chivalry of yours now, Lancer?”

He chokes on his words, tears falling as everything is consumed by darkness and he’s surrounded— all of them questioning his loyalty and asking him how could he and yet that isn’t even the worst part. The next thing he knew they crowd had parted to make way for the man who’d become his shelter, his saving grace and he could’ve burst into sobs then and there from relief if it wasn’t for the look of absolute disgust aimed at him, so refined yet so scathing and it hurt. But then it was just him and this man, alone, and it was dark but they could see each other perfectly. 

“You... you’re nothing more than a pitiful worm. Once you interested me, seemed entertaining— it seems I was wrong. You can’t even serve your king without failing.”

“N-no, I- please, listen to me!”

“I never want to see your disgusting face again, zasshu.”

It hurt. It hurt so much and he was staring at the retreating figure of that man- reaching out, mouth open to speak but he couldn’t make a sound. And then he was alone in the darkness but the next thing he knew there was light and before him was his King, eyes wide in shock and pupils blown wide with them, blood running from his mouth and the spear sticking out of his chest was in the knight’s hand and then it wasn’t and instead the King was falling—

The most scathing words came as he held the dying demigod and then he took a moment to look around and realized that they were surrounded by the dead— among them were those he’d sworn his loyalty to and he’d killed all of them— and then he screaming, tears running from his eyes and everything was cold, he was alone with the dead and the guilt was overwhelming.

And then he wasn’t, instead in the dark and it was warm. Familiar arms were around him and pulling him closer, into the King’s lap and Diarmuid trembled, lip quivering while tears burned his eyes as amber met crimson and for a moment all he could think of were the scathing words and loathing in that voice he’d grown to love, but the hand that found its way to his face and caressed his cheek gently, yet clearly uncertain told him that it was a dream. Gilgamesh was real, he was alive and the Irishman let out a choked, broken sob of relief as the tears began to fall, leaning into the touch and its warmth to remind him that it everything was alright. It was just another nightmare. 

Gilgamesh didn’t ask— he didn’t have to. Instead he took one of Diarmuid’s hands, intertwining their fingers and pulled him closer using his other arm and resting his chin on the knight’s head as he cried. If there was one thing he never wanted to watch, it was this. He didn’t want to hear it, either, because there should be no reason that the Irishman should be wailing into his shirt but he was, and the King knew well enough the signs that his lover had another nightmare that involved him and he hated it. It meant that as much of a refuge as he was for the man, he was also a source of terror and if anything that made Gilgamesh hate himself more than he already did. He wished there was something he could do, something he could say to stop it because these night terrors were getting too frequent for his liking.

The King slipped their hands apart, causing Diarmuid to look up at him in confusion and Gilgamesh felt his heart breaking at the fear in the Lancer’s eyes as he brought his hands up to rest on those trembling shoulders. The knight visibly flinched and the Archer felt his throat tighten because the ravenette was his anchor at this point, watching him like this was torture and his heart was aching because all he wanted to do was take away the man’s fear and worry but he couldn’t. So his touches were featherlight as his hands trailed up the Irishman’s long neck to rest on his cheeks as Gilgamesh pressed their foreheads together. Diarmuid felt fresh tears welling up as he saw the worry, the guilt and self-loathing swimming in the visible crimson eye that were clashing with his own. 

It caused a chain reaction, it seemed, as the same thing burned the King’s eyes when calloused fingers came up to graze over the bandages covering his right one, the same bandages which Diarmuid had applied when the nurse froze upon seeing the damage done, damage which couldn’t be reversed because of the entire damn situation. Gilgamesh couldn’t bear to see the guilt on the Irishman’s face over it again, opting instead to take the hand which had trailed to his cheek in one of his own and kissing the man. 

Diarmuid felt his heart skip a beat, tears falling as he returned it and then he realized they were both crying and he didn’t want that. Gilgamesh wasn’t supposed to cry with him or for him, nor was he supposed to doubt and hate himself as he did but nothing could stop him from it now and it hit both men as they broke away. They were broken— so very, horribly broken but even so the heart of Chaleda was alive, Yuki was alive and so were they and all of them were broken now. Romani had probably fallen asleep while watching over them after doing all he could to stabilize them. 

Bitter laughter bubbled up between the two and then they were laughing, laughing and it was so horribly bittersweet but they were alive and together, both broken but they had done it, another Singularity gone and Caster was back, safe and unharmed. The two fell back into the pillows in their laughter, Gilgamesh pulling Diarmuid close and the latter snuggling into the former’s chest while wrapping his arms around the King, and the King’s were around the knight. It was warm and they were now just relishing in the fact that everything would be fine for the time being, sleep being a distant dream as the two took comfort and refuge in each other. 

“You are never to leave me, Diarmuid.”

“Of course, my king.”


	5. Touch (Gilgamesh/Diarmuid, Caster Cú/Alter Cú, Archer Emiya/Lancer Cú)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was hard. 
> 
> But it was touch that calmed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a bit more Emiya and Chulainn and this, if only because I’ve been neglecting them and proceeded to get caught up in their relationship issues. 
> 
> They have a few. 
> 
> Takes place sometime after the Fifth Singularity, obviously. Not sure when.

Diarmuid could’ve sworn his world had been crashing down around him all at once when it happened, and the relief he felt when his lover awoke and gave him a soft smile brought tears to his eyes. Gilgamesh was a blessing and he honestly wasn’t sure he deserved him whatsoever, especially considering how often the Archer was injured in combat these days despite his best efforts. But still, the king only chuckled when the Lancer wrapped him in a hug with a ferocity he couldn’t hope to match before returning the gesture. 

“I’m sorry, Gil. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been paying more attention and—“

“Hush, my knight. No more words. All is forgiven,” Gilgamesh said softly, cutting the Irishman off with nothing more than a look. Diarmuid placed a hand over the bandages covering one of the Mesopotamian’s eyes, smiling as the Archer leaned into his touch without breaking eye contact. 

Gilgamesh took every opportunity to remind Diarmuid that he was forgiven, and the knight couldn’t help but appreciate it every single time. 

-._.-

The last thing Cúlter planned to do was let go. He’d nearly lost his lover, and the only thing keeping him grounded now was touching the Caster. And so Cú had settled in the Berserker’s lap, rubbing gentle patterns into his forearms to calm him. In return he’d hidden his face in the crook of Cú’s neck, breathing deep of the Caster’s scent. Smoke and the ocean, earth and trees with just a hint of blood. The Berserker tightened his grip without realizing, earning himself a warm chuckle from the bluenette. A hand came up, knocking his hood back to run through his hair.

“I almost lost you.”

“You saved me, though, didn’ ya? ‘M right here, love, and I’m fine. Stop yer worryin’ over me like I’m some helpless maiden,” Cú retorted, tone playful and a smile on his face. 

Cúlter only smiled and fell back onto their bed, tail wrapping around the smaller man. 

-._.-

“You could’ve died!”

“I didn’t, did I?! Stop your damn worrying, Emiya! I’m right fuckin’ here an’ I’m not bleedin’!”

The bluenette was slipping back into an accent and his lover had already switched to Japanese in his anger, more upset than he’d like to admit. Neither wanted to admit how scared they’d been.

“That doesn’t make it any better and you know it!”

“Do ya really have the moral highgroun’ here, Emiya?!”

The Archer went quiet. He didn’t. He didn’t have the moral highground at all, seeing as he was the one who’d gotten hurt. Not the Lancer he was arguing with. Emiya looked away from Chulainn, now unable to make eye contact as the guilt began to surface. The demigod let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward and placing a hand over one of his before letting it run up over his arm and neck, coming to a stop on the back of his head. 

“Look at me, Emiya.”

He couldn’t. Chulainn wouldn’t allow that. The Lancer’s hand gripped his chin, forcing grey to meet crimson. Seeing his worry only made Emiya feel worse, and it was plain as day on his face. Not to mention the guilt hiding behind the concern in Chulainn’s eyes. The Archer wrapped his arms around the Lancer without realizing, holding the bluenette close and resting his head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Emiya mumbled, breath shuddering. Chulainn frowned, wrapping his left arm around his lover while his other hand went to run through snow-white locks. 

“I know. ‘S ok, love. ‘M sorry, too. ‘S ok. Yer fine, I’m fine, we’re gonna be alright, ya hear?”

“...yeah.”


End file.
